The Best of Friends
by MsBarrows
Summary: Varric and Isabela sit down together to write some friend fiction about their favourite broody elf. Written for moodymarshmallow as part of the Dragon Age Holiday Cheer gift exchange on Tumblr.


"Are you sure about this, Rivain?"

"Of course I'm sure," Isabela said, leaning forward to read over Varric's shoulder. "Trust me – they'd make a _delicious_ couple. If anyone could convince our broody friend to loose a few inhibitions and most-to-all of his clothing, it would be Zevran."

Varric sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking up at the woman. "All right, I'll believe you. Tell me more about this friend of yours. Or should that be _friend _of yours?"

"Definitely a _friend_," Isabela said, and moved around the table, pulling out a chair and sitting down, her long legs lifting to rest, crossed at the ankle, on the edge of the table. Varric gave her a look, but restrained himself from reminding her of how much he disliked boot-scuffs on his table.

She leaned forward a moment, removing her daggers from their harness on her back so that she could lounge back more comfortably in the chair, placing one across her lap and holding the other in one hand, tip resting against one finger of the other, rolling the hilt back and forth between her fingertips and watching the light reflecting off the blade. "He's very good with blades. Swords, daggers, and the other kind, before you ask. And he's very good with his tongue, in all senses of the phrase. He could doubtless talk our dear Grand Cleric into shedding both her inhibitions and her robes, if he was in the mood to try. And give her a very pleasant time once he had. I've seen him seduce someone with nothing more than a well-timed eyebrow lift and a charming smile. And he is _very_ charming. And handsome."

Varric snorted. "You make him sound like a Paragon of seduction."

"Oh, he is that," Isabela agreed easily. "Half of what I know about the art, I learned from him."

"All right," Varric said, picking up his pen, and pulling a blank sheet of parchment over in front of him. He dipped his pen, tapped it on the edge of the ink bottle, then looked at Isabela over the top of his reading glasses. "Describe him to me."

She smiled, a sultry smile – as most of her smiles were – and shook her hair back. "Well, an elf, but I told you that before. A little on the small side for one; the top of his head just barely reaches my shoulder. That lovely golden-brown complexion most Antivan elves have, shoulder-length blond hair; sun-bleached, and with the temple locks braided to hold back his hair. _Marvellously_ kissable lips..."

"I want to write about him, Isabela, not bed him," Varric said dryly.

Isabela flashed him a smile, then continued. "Golden-brown eyes. And a tattoo on his left cheek; three curving lines, like so," she said, and ran the fingertip of her left hand three times down her cheek, a short curve around the outer orbit of her eye, then two longer lines curving down and across her cheek. "More tattoos elsewhere, of course, but I can tell you about those later, if you need to know any specifics."

"A sailor, I take it?"

"Maker, no!" Isabela exclaimed, and grinned. "He hates ships. Nowhere to run on them. He's an Antivan Crow. Well, _ex_-Antivan Crow."

Varric paused, and stared blankly at Isabela for a moment. "I wasn't aware there was any way to leave the Crows that didn't involve a funeral pyre," he said finally.

"Zevran found one. Apparently if you kill enough Crows they start to get a wee bit wary of trying to kill you. They don't _stop_ of course, there are always ones who fail to believe in the possibility of their own death, at least until you present them evidence to the contrary."

Varric sighed, and put down his pen. He removed his glasses, and rubbed at his eyes with the other hand. "Let me get this straight. You want me to write friend fiction about a warrior who can remove my heart with just his hand, and an elven assassin so deadly even the _Crows_ are scared of him?"

Isabela gave him her best innocent look. "Of course. Just imagine how perfect they'd be together – all that deadly grace and barely leashed violence and lovely lithe tattooed bodies..." She sighed, and settled more comfortably into her chair.

"I might find that a little easier to imagine if I wasn't busy imagining my heartless, mutilated corpse," Varric said dryly.

"Mutilate such a handsome dwarf? For shame – I would never do such a thing," a voice said from the shadows overhead.

Varric jumped, startled; it was a long time since anyone had last successfully snuck up on him unnoticed, the scar from which still ached on cold days.

"Zev!" Isabela exclaimed joyfully, resheathing her daggers as she jumped to her feet and looked up into the shadows overhead. "Get down here! What are you doing in Kirkwall?"

An elf dropped lightly down to the floor, exchanging a warm and very hands-y hug with the pirate. He was, Varric noticed, pretty much exactly as she had described, at least physically – he wouldn't presume to judge skill or personality on such short acquaintance.

"What am I ever doing of late, my dear Isabela, but avoiding people who wish me dead?" the elf asked, grinning charmingly and shrugging, then turned to look interestedly at Varric. "Forgive me for dropping in uninvited, but I was seeking Isabela. While trying to locate her room, I saw her here in yours, so I slipped inside. Do please forgive my intrusion."

"Err... forgiven," Varric said. "How long have you been up there?"

The elf's grin widened. "Long enough to hear Isabela proposing me for a character in one of her so-charming flights of fancy," he said, then turned back to her. "Your friend fictions, you call them, yes?"

"Yes," she agreed. "You don't mind do you?"

"Of course not. Though I insist that you must send me a copy when it is done. And tell me more about this other 'tattooed elf' you picture me as being partnered with? Perhaps even introduce me?"

Isabela laughed. "I'd enjoy doing that. Though if I do you must promise me to tell me all the juicy details if you _do_ succeed in seducing him."

"Now, now, my dear – you know a gentleman does not kiss and tell."

Isabela pouted. "Fine then. Just one detail then, that has been driving me mad for ages."

"Mmm, perhaps. It depends on the detail."

"I've always wanted to know what colour his smalls are. Assuming he even wears any at all; I've seen no sign of any."

The elf grinned again. "And I assume you've looked closely."

"As closely as he and his skin-tight leather amour allow, yes," Isabela said, then turned back to Varric, and gestured with one hand at Zevran. "You see? Didn't I say he would be the perfect pairing for Fenris?"

Varric smiled slightly. "I think I'll withhold comment on that. And, if you _do_ introduce him to broody, be kind enough to leave my name out of it."


End file.
